


Mend

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Oral, Sticky, Threesome, complicated relationship, cum-swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift has moved on after New Chrystal City and found Rodimus as friend and perhaps a bit more than that. But suddenly Wing has turned up again with all the unfinished business between them. Can they solve it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruenesca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruenesca/gifts).



> The origin of this story was a kinkmeme request and the smut part can be found on Lj still. But I was interested by the whole story of this threesome, how they got together, so I wrote that part too. 
> 
> the request and the fill:  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=15627157#t156271577  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13772.html?thread=15640012#t15640012

“I still can’t believe that you survived. Everymech said you were dead!”

Wing could tell that Drift was upset about it. Happy and glad, but also genuinely upset. Not surprising – he was dead. For awhile at least. But Primus decided that it wasn’t his time yet and sent him back. Too bad it didn’t happen soon enough to catch Drift before he left and Wing had to heal first, then argue with all the Knights about his decision and just then leave the city and chase down his elusive… charge? Friend? More?... who had gone gallivanting across the vast universe and was good at not leaving his address behind. Besides Wing still wasn’t sure exactly what Drift was to him, but he knew that he had to go after the wayward mech. If nothing else but to be sure he didn’t go back to the Decepticons or worse…

“I was. But I got better.”

“Got better…?!?”

Ohh, the former Decepticon still didn’t like his flippant tone about it, he could tell. The scowl, the frown, the frustrated backwards slant of his finials… Wing was surprised how much he missed those mannerisms. Strange, considering how much they had bothered him at first. But then, this Drift was different once more from what he’d known. During these past few vorns since Wing travelled across the universe to find him, the change that he and New Chrystal City started has accelerated greatly in Drift. He was an Autobot now, an officer of a ship captained by a Prime, gallivanting in the universe, saving lives, righting wrongs, settling scores… all noble and worthwhile goals as far as the Knight was concerned. But then, Wing himself was not the same mech either as before his death…

“And you came after me… well, more like after your Great Sword, right?”

There it was again. The insecurity, the constant doubt in himself that Wing couldn’t change in such a short time they had had together, much as he tried to. Apparently it was still there, despite of the achievements the speedster managed to attain since. That lack of self-worth that Wing hoped to get rid of one orn.

“That too.” – Wing smiled across the table, blithely ignorant of the many optics staring at them and easily captured one of Drift’s servos with his own. His sword was a complicated matter, but not the most important. – “But for you as well, Drift. For YOU.”

Drift was far more twitchy and conscious about the stares aimed at them. The Lost Light was notoriously a chaotic ship with strange occurrences and impossible events being the everyorn’s norm, so the crew weren’t put out by the appearance of a new mech, one whom Drift had claimed was dead. No, it was to see him with a mech, any mech, sitting together by a table and the chemistry so strongly working between them that it rivalled Tailgate’s infatuation with Cyclonus. That was what made mechs stare or glance at them covertly according to their temperaments.

“Me? But I’m…”

Drift sighed, leaving his sentence unfinished. His glance flashed to the bar’s door and back so fast he surely hoped Wing didn’t notice it. Which he did, but said nothing about it. The glances around them were filled with… anticipation, but it was anticipating something much more violent than their demeanor would suggest. Wing had sharp enough hearing to catch a designation – Rodimus, and a Prime at that – and Drift’s together. He never expected Drift to remain single and pining forever for him whom he knew to be dead. He hoped they could solve it now, that the Prime would be sensible about it, that Drift could just accept to be … loved? Was it so bad to be loved by more than just one mech?

“You are the reason I came here, Drift. You. I thought we had… something.”

“We did! I mean… I dunno what was it… but we are still … friends?”

But his tone was not as steady and sure as Wing would have liked, the sentiment expressed far too hesitant and he glanced towards the door again, finials still slanted backwards nervously.

“Drift…”

The Knight sighed and his servo tightened about the one he was holding. He was keeping his flightpanels tucked tightly in, the original, happy flutters dying down.

“Drift. Just say the word and I’m gone. No matter what I feel… or think. I didn’t come to make you feel… obligated?”

“But I don’t want you to leave!”

Wing was happy to hear that admission, even though Drift’s tone still held something hidden. He didn’t let himself hope just yet, but he was determined to get to the bottom of the problem, since Drift obviously wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Now, about this friend of yours… let’s discuss matters about us, but with him too, okay? He’s obviously important to you.”

Wing snickered at the comically wide-opticked surprise at that and grabbed a servo, drawing the hesitant speedster out of the bar. He could hardly wait to see this… Rodimus Prime and see what kind of advances he made with Drift. The last time he saw the former Decepticon, Drift was not even willing to talk about interfacing, much less try it. But he felt different vibes from him now, ones that that made him hopeful and hot under the armour. For one thing, Drift never once flinched when Wing touched his servo or arm. That was a definite improvement from what the jet remembered. Hopeful, promising improvement.

Wing could barely wait to see the mech who has achieved this change in Drift.

-o-o-o-

Rodimus Prime was at his graffitied desk, for once properly seated on the chair and scribbled his signature onto another datapad strong enough so that its screen creaked painfully. He threw the pad onto the outbox and yanked another in front of him. He had trouble reading its content though, the words swimming together and he snarled angrily. The datapad cracked in his grip. Rodimus snarled and threw it across his office. It sailed through the room and crashed into the frame of the door which slid open just then. Ultra Magnus stopped at the doorway, his glance moved down at the innocent and now dead datapad. He leaned down to pick it up and stepped into the office, ignoring Rodimus’s angry glower that was mixed with sheepish guilt.

“The report is certainly not to blame.” - he noted mildly and placed it into the rubbish bin – “I will send it over again.”

“Slag the report!”

Magnus ignored his protocols clamouring in outrage at the sentiment. Rodimus was in fine mood and not the usual way. It was – whatever it was – serious in a way the young Prime rarely acted, his usually easy flippancy and confidence completely missing.

“You seem to be… stressed, Captain.”

“I’m not!”

Magnus didn’t dignify the reply with more than a raised brow plate and continued.

“Is it about Drift?”

Rodimus and Drift claimed to be friends. Best friends, best buddies, but strictly only friends. Or at least that was what they kept insisting on to every mech on board; and most mechs, Ultra Magnus knew, believed it. The speedsters were certainly tight and always seen together from the bridge to the training room and Swerve’s bar, but never either of them making a move that would suggest anything more. Which was not something Rodimus often did. What the young Prime wanted, he usually took, unless it protested really loud or ran really fast. And he wanted Drift, Ultra Magnus was sure of it. He might have had little experience in such matters, but Rodimus Prime was an open book, with some very large, bold print. Drift’s designation was written into it with block capitals and surrounded by little pink circles. Figuratively speaking, of course. 

“No. NO! Well, maybe.”

“Is there a problem?”

Actually handling such a situation – well, that was one snake-pit Magnus would not touch with a ten-feet pole. But he had to ask. Rodimus expected him to ask, wanted him to ask and wanted to answer. He might as well oblige.

“No!”

“No?”

“Yes…”

“Yes?”

The conversation was degrading, something that rarely happened with Rodimus. The young Prime certainly filled any silences or painful pauses with lots of words, easy laughter and general noise. Not quite so this time, though…

“Where is Drift?” – maybe if he started at the bottom, Rodimus would be able to climb out from the ever-deepening pit of a conversation.

“Swerve’s.” 

One-word answers were most definitely not normal for Rodimus Prime, even if his drooping spoiler didn’t gave him away.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing!”

But Magnus noticed another datapad falling prey to a tightening grip, the cracks around the golden digit-tips running across the screen. He made a mental note of resending the report, but plunged on with the increasingly uncomfortable conversation. 

“What did somemech else do then?”

“Nothing!” – Rodimus paused for a klik before continuing in a much lower volume, noticing Magnus’s tiny flinch at the shout – “Well, nothing yet.”

“Who is this mech, who did nothing… umm, yet?”

“That new one. That… Knight.” – There was a bitter taste in the last word, one that made Magnus become very cautious with his next question.

“Wing?”

The flier seemed normal enough for Ultra Magnus yet. Certainly not as erratic as most of their crew was on a normal orn which was one mark in his favour. That is, aside for being dead once. But Ultra Magnus had known before mechs – case in point is Optimus Prime himself - who have been dead and lived again, so that wasn’t as much of a bad mark as one might think. 

“He’s with Drift.”

Ohh. Magnus felt the pit widening at their pedes. Figuratively of course. He reached out and poked a stray datapad into correct alignment with the desk’s edge. He didn’t know what to say, but fortunately Rodimus’s vocalizer seemed to open up and spared him the need for a reaction or another question he did not want to ask.

“They have a… _history_. A blind mech could guess what kind of a history.” – Rodimus was pushing the datapads across his desk, back and forth, not looking up to Magnus, who was kind of glad, for it meant the Prime didn’t see his pained look at the careless and chaotic action. – “And that Wing mech seems determined to pick up that. He says he followed our trail… actually Drift’s trail for **vorns** … VORNS! to catch up with him. And Drift is with him now.”

Unspoken was the notion ‘ _not with me_ ’, but Magnus understood it all the same. Rodimus continued to be still an open book even with helm down and optics downcast.

“You are friends still. And old… acquaintance shouldn’t change that.”

It was all he could offer. Matters of spark were not Ultra Magnus’s forte, or even just a minor ability. 

“Friends. And, yeah… it shouldn’t. But…”

Before Magnus could answer or say anything – not that he was sure what or that he wanted to – there was a soft chime from the door and it slid aside without any further ado. It wasn’t locked and Drift, as a commanding officer, certainly had permission to come in at all times. Even with a certain winged mech hovering behind him. Glancing at the white speedster’s face and back to Rodimus’s incredulous-shocked-starting to get hurt one, Magnus decided that his presence was unnecessary here any more. They could talk over whatever they had to. Ultra Magnus beat a strategic retreat, barely noticed by the trio despite of his size and his awkward shuffling around them. Drift spared him a nod but his own optics were on the Captain, his servo in the new mech’s grip.

Ultra Magnus was saved from further… counselling by the door sliding shut behind him. 

Rodimus sat in his chair frozen, emotions warring in him as he watched his Third and the flier Knight… Wing, he remembered the name, come closer, Drift obviously with hesitant embarrassment. Though he came in the office door first, it still strangely looked like he was towed here by the servo belonging to the flier and he was visibly awkward. Rodimus narrowed his optics at the winged mech, but it was still Drift, who spoke up hesitantly.

“Umm, hi, Roddy. Well. Ahem… Wing, he’s Rodimus Prime. Roddy, he’s Wing. Umm. We’re… friends.”

Drift vaguely waved between them, probably not quite sure whose friendship he has just announced and to whom. By his tightly held armour and finials bent straight back, he was perceiving the tension in the room perfectly and fighting hard not to react to it. Wing, a red-white jetformer, came forward after the awkward introductions and smiled, ignoring the same tension like it didn’t exist. He appeared the kind who could do that ignoring until tension just threw up its arms in exasperation and shrivelled up. Rodimus’s kind of mech in fact.

“Hello.” – The jet’s friendly and open smile battled against Rodimus’s glower and scowl… and it was winning – “I’ve wanted to see the mech Drift calls his best friend.”

Rodimus found that it was hard to hold onto his hurt anger in the face of the Knight’s overpowering friendliness and endless calm. Just like Drift had told him about his Wing in those outrageous tales. A mech so irresistibly cheerful, even the DJD would be hard put to maintain serious or angry faces while being a swordsmech who beat Drift every time, with ease. And Drift found it important to tell him that they were, yeah, best friends. It put some confidence back to his processor.

“Hi. Yeah, it’s me, Rodimus Prime. Captain of this… funhouse they call a ship on a quest.”

Confidence, yeah, and… this Wing mech was absolutely gorgeous from his red-white pedes till the adorable audials flares framing amazing golden optics and a beautiful smile. Rodimus stood from his chair, moved closer to his visitors and propped a hip at the front of his desk, coincidentally showing off his own perfect frame. His spoiler rose along with his mood. His winning smile was natural. The lightning flashed on his flamboyant colours. Yeah, he was… Rodimus Prime. Self-doubt was not his style.

“Glad to meet you at last. Drift’s certainly talked enough about you.”

It was interesting to see Drift blush in the finials. Rodimus had long wanted to put that blush there, but refrained from it in a rare display of empathy. Drift has never talked about interfacing, never even suggested that he was interested in it. Given what little he had told about his past, the young Prime could certainly understand the reluctance. It didn’t mean that Rodimus has never fantasized about his friend, but both Rung and Ratchet, the mechs who knew Drift the best and longest told him not to push the issue and for once he accepted the advice. For now.

“Hopefully not too bad things.” – Wing flashed a wink at Drift, who stuttered back.

“I’d n-never…!”

Drift spluttered, blush spreading down on his finials. Wing laughed, the clear, ringing sound pleasantly filling the Captain’s office. Rodimus lifted a brow-plate and joined in. He was good at making conversations, and charming mechs, wasn’t he? Better start then doing just that.


	2. Wing it

Drift gave over command to Ultra Magnus and trudged to his quarters tiredly. The shift was long and full of trouble – never a dull klik on the Lost Light, but this orn seemed even worse to him than most. First Whirl needling mechs in Swerve’s, then Cyclonus taking umbrage at said needling and defending Tailgate’s honour and it required force to separate them and their supporters from both sides. And if that was not enough afterwards he had to play diplomat between Perceptor and Brainstorm in a shouting match aka scientific discussion of which he understood only the _and_ -s and _the_ -s and Ratchet’s running commentary, which was mocking both of them and didn’t help any. With ringing audials and a fuzzy-blank processor he wanted little else from the orn but a nice, hot shower, a cube and recharge.

“Drift!” – Rodimus’s cheerful, energetic and loud voice intruded to his comm and Drift’s finials twitched while he groaned inwardly – “How about a spar? It’s the best way to start an orn to swing some swords, ehh?”

“Umm…” – he hated saying no. To everyone, but especially to his friend. But for him it was not the beginning of the orn, but the end and his stores of strength were about empty – “I’m kinda… tired now to spar, Roddy.”

“Tired? But you always love to spar!” – the pout was clearly audible in the young Prime’s tone and Drift flinched again and sighed.

“Roddy, I just came off shift.” 

“So? Don’t tell me you’re really tired? It’ll be fun! Or… we can race a bit in the hangar bay, on the new little track, how about that?”

“I’m… sorry, but… Roddy, I just can’t. Not today. Not until I had a cube and a little rest.”

“I see.” – Rodimus’s tone became dry and acquired a petulant, whining pitch better suited to sulking sparklings than a not-quite-but-still-almost-Prime – “Well, go and… recharge then.”

Drift wanted to add one more apology after that, but he could already hear the click of the closing comm-line as it went silent. He almost called Rodimus back to tell him to change his processor… but he was truly not up to the Captain’s kind of energetic and vigorous free-time, so he decided against it. He would have to apologize and make it up to him later but right then Drift just trudged back to his quarters, chugged down a cube of energon and sprawled on his berth without looking.

The energon gave him a boost of failing levels and he lay there in a much better mood, luxuriating in the silence, peace and the comfort of his berth. His berth was about the only luxury he indulged himself with – huge, soft, with all comfort available for metallic frames and covered with plenty of durable pillows Rodimus used to tease him with. Drift knew that it was strange for a former Decepticon swordsmech to love and collect soft little pillows, but Rodimus knew about his past before that, the vorns on the streets where anything soft was just a stuff of dreams… and kept his teasing to a minimum about it. And they were comfortable to lay on, to prop up an aching limb, to bury himself in the mountain of them, even to cuddle one with… though he’d never do the last in front of witnesses, not even Rodimus.

Drift was teetering at the edge of real recharge when his door-chime rang. For a klik he was tempted to ignore it, but the energon and the little relaxation restored enough energy in him to be able to face with somemech, so he sighed and lifted his helm up from the sea of pillows to call out.

“Enter.”

The door slid aside and Drift suddenly felt even better. That brilliant smile should be censored, he pondered for a klik, it was damn a drug. A drug, he would take any time.

“Wing! Come in!”

The Knight bounced in with enthusiasm written on every line of him. Smile abundant, flight-panels fluttering, steps skipping… sometimes Drift swore his friends had far more energy than himself as he had trouble keeping up with the two of them. He really hoped that Wing didn’t want to spar, because he still didn’t feel like up to anything strenuous. A flash of a gem from Wing’s back caught his optics, but the Sword was Wing’s and though Drift felt a tiny little emptiness where it used to sit on his back for so long, he didn’t miss it. Too much. It felt too natural on its owner’s back. 

“Long shift?” – Wing was at the berth in two bouncing steps and sat down by Drift, carefully not too close, but his field still touched Drift and it was… as usual, cheerful, calm and happy – “Lots happening?”

“You wouldn’t believe it.” - Drift luxuriated in that field like always. Much as their relationship was still platonic, he truly loved Wing’s nature coming through in his EM field and smooth his own. - “I swear this ship is a certified madhouse sometimes.”

Wing laughed, the clear, ringing sound warming Drift’s spark and he smiled back.

“Tell me more about it. Or… would you be up to a cube or some treats to tell the stories with?”

Drift considered the offer. Like always with Wing it was presented in a way to feel less of an obligation and more like an invitation he could safely refuse. Unlike Rodimus’s, his processor whispered quietly. It was far easier to say no to Wing, because he wouldn’t be offended by it. But he didn’t want to say no now. Some sweets and regaling each other with tales would not be strenuous and a perfect end for the orn.

“Okay. Let me just make myself presentable and we can go. Swerve’s?”

Wing nodded and watched with a smile lurking at his lipplates as Drift quickly wiped off a few lines of paint from his arm he somehow gained during the orn and leaning over he picked a fluff of gaudy, yellow material from one of his audials.

“What’s this?”

Drift turned to look at him and an embarrassed grimace twisted his face, his sharp audials flares twitched.

“From the… pillows. No matter how durable they are, I tend to gut one occasionally.”

“Poor wiggle pillows…” Wing cooed and they both erupted in loud laughter. 

“That’s about all I am dangerous to these orns. Fear me, Mighty Pillow Army!”

Drift struck a dramatic pose with an imaginary sword and Wing sprawled on his berth, limbs akimbo and laughing uncontrollably until lubricant squeezed from his optics.

“Yeah, laugh at me. A tamed Decepticon. Gutter of Pillows.”

Wing was still laughing, but flashes of concern appeared in his field. Still, his voice was easy and cheerful as he answered.

“You’re not a Decepticon any more, Drift, and you haven’t been for a long time. And I can hardly wait to hear what mighty enemies you’ve vanquished beside your poor pillows while I was not around to watch you.”

Drift smiled back, showing that he was okay, but he too have turned a bit more serious.

“Yeah, let’s get to Swerve’s. I had some energon earlier, but I could still use some more. Especially if I have to tell you tales of our adventures. They are… many and varied.”

Swerve’s bar was not quite full but close to and their pair still drew interested glances from most of the crew and whispers floated after them that Drift tried to ignore. Fortunately his favourite place, a small table near the back, fairly well hidden from most of the room - and more importantly most of the noise - was still empty and Drift pulled Wing there after they got their energon and a platter of his favourite treats. 

It was easy to talk with Wing. The jet was an equally good listener and talker and with him, Drift has always felt that the Knight was truly listening to what he said and not just politeness was making him do an interested face. Of course it has always been so, but in New Chrystal City their relationship always had that little, bitter undercurrent, the fact that Drift was effectively a prisoner and the Wing his jailer. He never behaved like one, but still, it was there and made Drift frustrated, angrier and just generally aware of that fact. It had quietly poisoned most of their past conversations too, because Drift couldn’t completely trust even in him. 

But here, on the Lost Light, it was completely different. They were not only equals, but actually it was Drift who held a command rank on the ship and had friends, colleagues, who would take his side should it be needed, and even the general crew knew him in a way they didn’t know Wing. Once Drift was over the shock of seeing him alive they fell into an easy, natural relationship that was much healthier than their first one. Though they had a few hurdles to overcome at first…

“So… I think I told you everything what happened to me. It’s your turn now. Was it really vorns?”

“You are not the easiest mech to follow.” – Wing smiled at him extra warmly and Drift’s spark tripped a little, though he wasn’t sure why – “Everyone remembers you, mostly from the destruction you wrought, but you don’t exactly leave your next address.”

“Well, most of the time I left a place hurriedly… or in ruins.”

Wing laughed, the clear, ringing sound drawing even more glances towards them.

“That was the impression I got in most places as well. I, well, I have caused a lot less disturbance on my way. It was more like a vacation, travelling and seeing the sights of the universe.”

Drift’s field showed his doubts at that. Even with the main Cybertronian war ended, the universe was far from being a safe space. He would definitely not call it uneventful. Only a mech like Wing could glide over it untouched…

…Drift suddenly became aware of the bar becoming nearly silent. Uncharacteristically silent for such a busy night… and not in a good way. Wing too turned back to see what caused it, the same time as Drift lifted his helm and sought the reason. It wasn’t hard to see once they looked up. Rodimus was rarely angry and even rarer that he was so coldly furious, but this time he appeared incensed. He was standing in the middle of the bar, obviously has just came in – _ohh, Primus_ , Drift thought, _he’s glowering at us_ – and noticed the two of them in the corner. But as he sat there frozen, the anger in Rodimus’s optics mixed with hurt and something he couldn’t name… and the Captain turned and stalked to the bar, ignoring them. 

It wasn’t good. No, no, no, it wasn’t good at all. Drift hesitated between standing up and going to his friend – or would it be better to leave him alone? He was obviously mad at him… them? He wasn’t good with this slagging emotions thing, dammit! He glanced to Wing and the jet nodded, the little movement of his helm nudging him towards Rodimus at the bar. Drift swallowed. It was promising to be awkward. No, more than that. Embarrassing and a complete live minefield.

“Go. He needs to…”

Drift nodded unhappily and stood up slowly. He could explain it to Rodimus, why he didn’t want to go sparring, but a talk with Wing was fine. It was true, he _was_ tired and wouldn’t be lying. Roddy should understand…

But he barely took a few steps towards the bar when Rodimus threw back his engex and stood, nearly kicking the bar-stool from under him. Drift stopped a few paces from him. The flame-coloured speedster whirled, caught sight of him and an angry grimace twisted his usually so cheerful face. _Slag!_ Drift tried to call out to him, but his friend’s designation died in his vocalizer halfway as Rodimus forced his optics off of him and stormed out of the place without a sound. That was bad. Very bad. Drift knew that Roddy almost never got silently angry. In fact he has never seen the other speedster like this. But it was clear that the Captain didn’t want to talk to him. 

“Maybe next orn.” – Drift nearly jumped out of his armour when Wing spoke up behind him – “he sleeps the anger out and you can talk. Whatever it was…?”

“Umm… he sorta… asked earlier if we could meet… and I turned him down.”

Wing frowned sadly and sighed a little, wings peeking out of their tuck.

“And then he saw you here, with me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Drift nodded anyway. But something in his mind rebelled. He got to meet Rodimus every orn while on duty and it took quite a lot of his orns. The Captain should understand that he needed some time with Wing too, he knew how much he missed the jet! So what was his problem really?

“I will talk to him next orn. Apologise. It’s just… a misunderstanding.”

**Author's Note:**

> About the Great Swords: I know that mostly canon and fanon assigns the Knights' swords a name and even some personality, but I never thought them that evolved. Sure they have some magic and power, but they are not sentient and in my fics they don't have names either.


End file.
